Aha the Big Bang
Aha the Big
Bang, I hear myself say.
How can it
possibly fit in my mouth?
The start of
it all a lump on my tongue.
Quiet. Fear is
a bird-flock that rests in a tree.
Or is it words
that huddle together
ink-black on
the branches. It is a form
of panic that wells
up in me and bursts from my
throat like a flock
on the rise. The cosmos
unfurls its wings. We flap, holler and shriek.
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